


Take Me Away

by jehanjoly (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Beach House, Beaches, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jehanjoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly and Jehan are having difficulty in their present relationships, and find solace in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So I’ll sail away, so I can meet the sea,  
And I’ll soar the sky, so I’ll feel the breeze”

—Scott Alan, Take Me Away

Joly pushed back from his computer and rubbed his face. He had lost track of how many hours he’d been sitting there – three? four? more? – typing notes and making outlines, in an effort to master the material for the course he was taking this summer.

Yet mastery remained beyond his grasp.

Joly stood up from his chair and looked around the apartment he shared with Bossuet and Musichetta. It was a sticky Friday night in mid-July and everything felt like it was covered with a light sheen of water. To top it off, the apartment was a mess of papers and clothes, and there was cat hair everywhere. Neither of his roommates were home – Bossuet was at the library, and Musichetta was working – and Joly knew there was the shared expectation that he would take care of the mess while they were gone. That he would make sure the rent was paid on time and that there was food in the refrigerator and that the cat litter was changed. The last task was the worst one – about once a week Joly was sure he’d come down with toxoplasmosis.

Sure, there were plenty of moments when they were a happy threesome. When he would wake up with his head on Bossuet’s shoulder, with Musichetta spooning him from behind, her warm breath on his neck. When they would sit out on their tiny deck drinking wine and polishing off the pear tart Joly had baked, laughing about Bossuet’s misadventures or Musichetta’s quirky co-workers.

But lately those moments seemed rarer and rarer. They were each so busy, and when all three of them were together, the time was mostly spent in their respective corners of the apartment – Bossuet lying in the couch in the living room, Musichetta holed up in the bedroom, and Joly camped out in their office/spare bedroom. Small things seemed to spark screaming fights. 

And lately Joly found himself haunted by dreams of flying away.

His reverie was broken when his phone buzzed. He picked up his phone to see a text from Jehan: “R and I @ Musain come join” He started typing a reply that he couldn’t, that he had too much work to do – and then hit backspace.

The Musain may be just the cure, he thought. “On my way,” he texted back. He went into the bedroom, fished his chucks out of the closet and put them on, then pulled a plaid shirt on over his t-shirt.He paused for a moment and thought about texting Bossuet and Chetta to let them know where he was going.

Instead he shoved his phone into his pocket and headed out into the sultry Cambridge night.

**

The Musain was the very definition of hole-in-the wall, on a side street just off Davis Square. His friends liked it there precisely because it was a hole-in-the wall – and the fact that the owner didn’t seem to care that they would sit there for hours, drinking and arguing and playing the occasional game of pool.

Joly waved to the bartender as he passed through the bar area to the garden in the back, where Jehan and Grantaire were parked at one of their usual tables. Grantaire already had a collection of empty beer bottles in front of him, and was lifting a half-full one to his lips, while Jehan was sipping a glass of red wine.

“Jolllly!” Jehan exclaimed as he sat down. “How’s the studying going?” he asked.

Joly shrugged.

“That good, huh?” Grantaire said, reaching into the bowl of peanuts to crack one open.

“Where is everyone tonight?” Joly asked as he flagged down the bar’s one server – the owner’s daughter. “Guinness, please,” he said, when she came over.

“Well, Enjolras is organizing some protest…student loan debt or something,” Grantaire said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Feuilly and Combeferre went to some French film at Coolidge Corner. I texted Bahorel but I think he smashed his phone the other day. And Courf — I don’t know.” Grantaire looked over at Jehan, who was suddenly staring at his wine glass.

Joly looked back and forth between his two friends. “What about Courf?” he asked.

“Probably out with his new roommate,” Jehan said, looking away.

Joly exchanged looks with Grantaire. “Courf and Marius?” he mouthed to Grantaire, who rolled his blue eyes. “Really?”

“Courf was never exactly faithful, you know,” Jehan said, his mouth a tight line.

“And when Marius said he was there to sleep with him…well, Courf kinda took that literally,” Grantaire said wryly.

Joly reached over to cover his friend’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry, man.”

Jehan sighed. “The worst part is that I haven’t written anything in weeks, and I have to submit my portfolio in two weeks.”

“Well, that’s not exactly going to help you finally finish that degree, is it?” Grantaire said.

“I can get this done, I think.” Jehan was ever the optimist. “I think I’m going to go down to my parents’ house on the Cape for a couple of days and just write.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Joly said, picking up the pint of Guinness the server had just then delivered and taking a long drink.

“And where are your roommates tonight?” Grantaire asked.

“Bossuet’s studying for the bar, when he’s not falling asleep on the T and ending up in Savin Hill. And the bookstore just decided to put in a café, so Musichetta’s been working pretty long hours, so…” Joly trailed off.

“Sounds awesome,” Grantaire said sarcastically.

“No,” Joly admitted. ”And I can’t seem to get a damn thing done, either. I keep opening my laptop to review my notes, and instead I find myself looking at cat videos.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Jehan asked suddenly.

“To the Cape?” Joly was incredulous. “I have too much to do, and the apartment is a disaster, and…”

“Just two days,” Jehan implored. “You can go away for two days. We’ll drive down tomorrow morning, and you can study and I can write. We’ll go get fried clams…”

“I can’t eat clams – the last time I had clams I got sick,” Joly interrupted. 

“Clams, cod, shrimp, whatever,” Jehan waved a hand. “The ocean air will clear your head, Jolllly. I promise.”

Joly hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it, Jolllly,” Jehan said. “I’m leaving at 8 to beat the traffic on route 3. Let me know and I’ll come by and pick you up.”

“Just go, man,” Grantaire said. “What’s the worst that can happen? Jehan drives that stupid little car of his into the Canal?”

Jehan glared at him and turned to Joly. “Let’s sail away for a while, dear Jolllly.”

**

A few hours and three Guinnesses later, Joly left the Musain and walked back to his apartment. When he opened the door, he tripped over Bossuet’s backpack full of legal books. The apartment was still a mess. Joly exhaled impatiently as he wandered into the bedroom. Bossuet and Musichetta were splayed out on top of the duvet, fast asleep.

There was no room for Joly.

Joly grabbed a blanket off the chair in the bedroom and returned to the living room. He stripped down to his briefs and lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he reached for his phone.

“I’ll be ready at 8,” he texted Jehan.

A minute later his phone buzzed.

Jehan had texted a smiley face.

**

The next morning, Joly was awake early. He showered and put on a plaid shirt and cargo shorts, the set to putting papers and books into piles and taking the old cat litter. He packed up his books and his laptop, threw a few clothes in a bag, and wrote his roommates a quick note telling them where he was going. He propped it up against the coffeemaker, hoping one of them would notice it when they eventually woke up.

Would they even notice he never came to bed? Joly wasn’t sure.

At 10 minutes after 8, Joly heard a car horn, and headed down the stairs, locking the apartment behind him. Jehan was parked across the street in his cream colored Mini, the top already down.

Jehan was wearing aviators, a white tank top and hideously bright green shorts that nevertheless showed off his muscular thighs.

“Are you going to drive with the top down?” Joly asked as he threw his bags in the back of the car and got in.

“Yep,” Jehan said. “And your hair is going to be a complete disaster, Jolllly. More than it is already,” he said, reaching up and ruffling Joly’s disheveled light brown hair.

Joly made a half-hearted attempt to duck away from Jehan’s hand. “Let me at least put on some sunscreen,” he said, reaching back to grab his bag. “Melanoma, you know.”

Jehan laughed and put the car into gear. “Oh, I know.”

Joly was still slathering sunscreen on every inch of exposed pale skin as they merged onto the Southeast Expressway. Jehan plugged in his iPod and hit shuffle, which first brought up a One Direction song. Joly moved to fast forward past the song, but when he looked over at his friend – sun glinting off his sandy curls as he bobbed his head and sang along – he stopped. Instead he leaned back and let the wind wash over him as they bombed down the highway to the Cape.

When they reached the Sagamore Bridge, ascending its span and just as quickly flying down the other side, Joly looked up at the dazzlingly blue sky. 

His dreams of flight had started to take wing.

**

Jehan’s family’s beach house was on the bay side of the Cape, a traditional gray-shingled house perched on a dune. Joly had been there once before, when Les Amis had descended on the house one Columbus Day weekend. (He remembered just two things about that weekend – Enjolras’ epic rant on the plight of indigenous peoples around the world, and a bout of food poisoning that left Bossuet moaning on the couch. Joly was sure he would get sick too, as they’d eaten the same lobster risotto at the Italian restaurant out on 6A, but miraculously he’d managed to avoid Bossuet’s misfortune.) The living room was dominated by a huge window overlooking Cape Cod Bay, with a deck beyond and a long set of stairs leading down to the rocky beach. There was a garden off the kitchen that Joly hadn’t noticed when they had visited in the fall, currently populated by riots of colorful beach roses.

When they arrived at the house, Jehan bustled about, opening windows. It was still hot, though the ocean breeze ensured it was cooler than it was in the city.

“Bedrooms are upstairs,” he said, gesturing at the staircase. “Pick whichever one you want.”

Joly meandered upstairs and found himself in the furthest bedroom down the hall, furnished simply with a wrought iron bed covered with a white duvet and a dresser. The single window overlooked the garden.

“This is where I usually sleep,” Jehan said, coming up behind him. “I love waking up and seeing the garden.”

“I’m sorry, man, you can have it – I can sleep somewhere else,” Joly said apologetically.

“No worries,” Jehan said with a grin. “I’m going to go out and pick up some food. Make yourself at home,” he said, clasping his friend’s shoulder before heading back down the stairs.

Joly unpacked his hastily assembled bags – he’d brought five different plaid shirts, but forgot his comb – and pulled his laptop and books out of his backpack. He hauled the pile of work downstairs and out to the deck, where he set up a workstation on the dining table, carefully arranging himself under the umbrella so as to not get sunburnt. He opened his laptop and his books and started reading and taking notes.

And all of a sudden concepts started making sense.

He was so engrossed that he didn’t even hear Jehan come back from the grocery store. He missed the text from Musichetta, telling him to have a good time, and the accidental phone call from Bossuet that wound up as five minutes of muffled conversation when he dialed Joly’s number by accident.

At around 4:00, he padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. Out the kitchen window he could see Jehan sitting cross-legged in the garden, a single rose tucked into his curls. His pen was poised over his moleskin notebook, and his blue eyes were fixed on a point in space.

Joly moved to tap the window, then pulled his hand back. Let Jehan be at one with his melancholy, he thought, taking his glass of water back out to the deck.

He knew his friend would prefer it that way.

**

That evening, the poetry and the medical texts had been exchanged for grilled fish and wine and raspberries. The two friends sat on the deck, watching the sun set over the dunes, talking about everything – politics, literature, philosophy, even idle gossip about their friends.

But Jehan never mentioned Courfeyrac.

And Joly never mentioned Bossuet or Musichetta. 

As dusk settled around them, Jehan proposed that they go down to the beach. Joly covered himself in bug spray while Jehan fetched his flip flops, and the pair headed down the long set of stairs and walked to the waterline. The gibbous moon illuminated a few solitary walkers, some of them walking their dogs.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the steady sound of the surf against sand the only noise.

Finally Joly broke the silence.

“Jehan, do you ever dream about running away?” he asked. 

“What do you mean, Jolllly?” Jehan said.

“I mean — do you ever stop and look at your life and wish you could just – start over?” he asked.

Jehan stopped walking and looked out over the moonlit bay. He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “All the time. Especially after…you know…”

Joly reached over and touched his friend’s arm. “I know.”

“I love him,” Jehan said.

“I know.” Joly said.

“Like you love Musichetta and Bossuet,” Jehan said.

“I know,” Joly repeated. “But the thing is – sometimes I wonder what it would be like to disappear, you know? You always talk about soaring on those four Ls – and I keep dreaming that I could soar away forever.”

Jehan turned to him then, reaching up to stroke Joly’s cheek.

“I’d fly away with you in heartbeat, dear Jolllly,” Jehan said. “Just say the word.”

Joly didn’t know what to say. His mind was racing with thoughts of school, of his roommates, or his life back in Cambridge.

And he leaned down and kissed Jehan softly on the lips.

“Let’s fly,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Jehan was running late.

Jehan always ran late. It was just his way – he would get distracted by writing something, or he would start brooding on the human condition, and before he knew it would be 10 minutes after he needed to leave and he had to run out of his apartment to catch the train or the bus.

Today was no exception. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he was awake early, drinking coffee while sitting cross-legged on the couch in just a pair of boxer shorts, writing in his notebook. He got so engrossed in writing that he didn’t look up until Grantaire staggered out of his bedroom at 9:15.

“Jesus, Jehan, don’t you have your date with Joly today?” he asked.

Jehan checked the time. “Shit,” he said, dashing into his room, where he hastily pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and a slightly ratty t-shirt. He shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers, and grabbed his wallet, his phone and his keys. On his way out, he glanced at the mirror, smoothing his unruly curls – and noticing his t-shirt had an enormous hole under the arm. He peeled off his t-shirt and rummaged in his closet, rejecting several choices before settling on a soft linen button down shirt that Courfeyrac had bought for him.

He returned to the living room, where Grantaire had taken up residence on the couch.

“Have fun, Jehan,” Grantaire said. “I’ll be over at Enjolras’s later if you need the place to yourself for any reason.” He winked at his friend teasingly.

Jehan smiled weakly. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

Yet Jehan could only wish.

**

He hadn’t talked to Joly since that kiss on the beach three weeks ago. The rest of the weekend was spent mostly in awkward silences, punctuated by an occasional discussion of something trivial like the perils of gardening in the sandy soil of the Cape. Joly had been quiet the entire way back to Cambridge, poker faced under his sunglasses.

Jehan wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing. He knew Joly was unhappy in his current situation, but wasn’t sure if he, Jehan, was the solution to Joly’s problems.

Particularly as he himself had been struggling to dislodge himself from Courfeyrac.

When he’d arrived back at the apartment he shared with Grantaire that Sunday, Courf was sitting on the stoop, a small bouquet of hastily chosen wildflowers in his hand and a million explanations on his tongue. About how the various men who floated in and out of his bed didn’t mean anything, that Jehan was his one true love.

Normally Jehan would have stopped and listened, would have eventually kissed him and taken him upstairs.

Instead he’d pushed past him and gone inside. He picked up his mail, put down his bags, and fed Grantaire’s cat, pointedly ignoring his ex-boyfriend.

When he went to the front window and looked down at the street, Courf was already gone. The flowers sat on the stoop, wilting in the summer sun.

Jehan stared at them, chewing his lip.

After a few minutes, he turned and started unpacking.

That night he lay on the couch relating the entire story to Grantaire, about Joly and the kiss and Courf’s half-hearted apology. Grantaire, already cranky from a fight with Enjolras, sat in the tattered easy chair next to him, steepling his hands like a patient therapist – a role he’d played for Jehan so many times before.

“You’re overthinking this, Jehan,” he’d said. “Forget Courf. He’s moved on.”

“But I love him,” Jehan had pleaded. “He is my center.”

“Courf is the center for too many people,” Grantaire said. “That’s the problem.”

“But Joly? I never…I mean, he’s Joly. I can’t imagine him with anyone other than Chetta and Bossuet,” Jehan said.

“Clearly that’s not who he was thinking about when you were making out on Sandy Neck,” Grantaire pointed out.

“We weren’t making out,” Jehan insisted, though he could feel a warm flush on his chest as he relived the kiss, how Joly’s lips felt, how he’d pressed his body into Joly’s lanky form…

Grantaire said nothing, just sipped his drink, half smiling.

“Maybe I should call Courf now,” Jehan mused, reaching for his phone. “See how he’s doing – tell him I’m sorry—”

Grantaire stifled a smile. “Calm down, Prouvaire.”

Jehan put the phone down. Perhaps Grantaire was right.

And then a week later, Jehan heard that Joly had officially moved into the spare bedroom at the apartment he shared with Bossuet and Musichetta.

When he heard the news his first reaction was sadness that the most solid relationship among his group of friends was falling apart.

His second thought was of Joly, sleeping alone in the spare room.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be beside him.

**

Two weeks later Jehan was at the Musain on a rainy night with Grantaire and Enjolras. The rain had chased them inside, so they were sitting at a booth. Jehan sat next to Enjolras, who was in the middle of one of his epic rants, while Grantaire sat opposite them, turned sideways, his feet on the booth.

Enjolras was making a point about his latest political cause when Jehan looked up to see Joly standing over them. He hadn’t shaved in a while„ and he was in desperate need of a haircut.

All of that made him all the more attractive to Jehan.

Grantaire made room for Joly to slide into the booth next to him and opposite Jehan. Joly and Jehan didn’t make eye contact – though Grantaire was shooting Jehan looks that Jehan pointedly ignored. Enjolras continued talking, oblivious to the tension among his friends.

Eventually Jehan couldn’t stand the awkwardness any longer and excused himself. He found himself in the hallway outside the bathrooms, leaning against a wall, finding it difficult to breathe. He fingered his phone in his pocket. He could always call Courf – Courf would take him back, right?

“Hey, Jehan,” It was Joly.

“Hey,” Jehan said, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“It’s good to see you,” Joly said.

“Same,”Jehan said, swallowing hard.

“So, um—I’ve been thinking about the Cape a lot, you know?” Joly looked down at his feet as he spoke.

“Yeah, me too,” Jehan said, looking at him sideways.

“And, um—what happened on the beach—” Joly was still studying his feet.

Jehan braced himself. “Yeah, it was probably a mistake—“

Joly looked directly at him. “No, no—it was lovely, Jehan. It’s just—maybe we need to start over, a little slower, you know?”

Jehan breathed a sigh of relief. “That makes sense.”

“So I guess what I’m saying is—“ Joly hesitated. “Do you want to go out sometime? Like on a—a date?”

“Yes!” Jehan said, maybe a little too quickly.

“Great,” Joly said. His tired green eyes suddenly had life in them. “Saturday? We can spend the day together?”

“Perfect,” Jehan said.

He finally exhaled for the first time since Joly walked into the bar.

**

Walking up the steps at Symphony station Jehan felt a twinge in his stomach. Nerves? Anticipation? He wasn’t sure. He strode down Huntington Avenue, dodging a few panhandlers and hungover Northeastern students as he made his way to Pavement, where he was planning to meet Joly for coffee.

He threw open the door to the café and spotted Joly immediately, sitting at a table next to the window. Joly’s head was turned to face the window, then sun illuminating his fine cheekbones, his pale skin, his light brown hair. He was wearing his usual plaid shirt – but one Jehan had never seen before – with a pair of jeans. As Jehan watched, he crossed his long legs and took a sip of his coffee.

Jehan paused, wishing at that moment that he was a painter like Grantaire, that he could render Joly’s beautiful face in oil paint. He wished he had a notebook with him so he could write down the verses that he was composing in his head.

Joly turned then and noticed him. The corners of his mouth turned up at the sight of Jehan. He looked much better than he had at the Musain that night – he’d gotten a haircut, and was clean-shaven. His eyes shone in a way that Jehan hadn’t seen in a long time from his friend.

As their eyes locked, Jehan felt a little unsteady on his feet.

“Jehan,” Joly said, breaking into a smile.

Jehan couldn’t help but to smile in return as he made his way over to Joly’s table.

“What shall we do today, Monsieur Jollly?” he asked.

**

They ended up at the art museum first. It was Jehan’s idea – Joly had never been much for art – but Jehan had been there many times with Grantaire while his roommate worked on assignments for his art history classes. Jehan took him to see the Egyptian collection first, figuring that a man of science would enjoy looking at 4,000 year old bodies.

He wasn’t wrong.

Joly studied every single object in the cool darkness of the funerary arts gallery. Jehan had always been a little creeped out by the presence of human remains, but Joly was in heaven. Jehan ambled about the center of the gallery while Joly read every single object label.

“Come here. Jehan,” Joly said at one point. He had been standing in front of one set of coffins for a good five minutes.

Jehan blanched, but went to stand beside Joly.

“Look at these things,” Joly said.

“It’s a dead body, Jolllly,” Jehan said, trying not to look too closely.

“But look at the work that went into them,” Joly pointed out. He put his hand on the small of Jehan’s back. “Look closely, Jehan. Look at the painting on the sarcophagus – and how they wrapped the”

Jehan’s squeamishness was alleviated by the feeling of Joly’s touch, and he squinted at the mummies.

“Come on, Joly,” he said. “I want to see something other than dead people.”

The two men wound their way through the immense museum, eventually winding up in the gallery devoted to John Singer Sargent. Sargent was Jehan’s favorite artist – he could see the poetry in the way Sargent’s brush hit the canvas, the way he painted the color white.

Now it was Joly’s turn to wander around the second floor while Jehan was transfixed, this time by Sargent’s masterpiece of four sisters. Jehan stood there for a long time, taking in every detail and composing poems in his head.

“Lovely,” he heard Joly say as he came to stand next to him.

“There is just something about this painting,” Jehan said. “They’re sisters, but they seem so—alone somehow. These little girls, this huge room—“ Jehan trailed off.

Joly took his hand. “I know that feeling,” he said thoughtfully. “The loneliness of a crowd, sort of.”

Jehan turned and looked him. For the first time the lanky man – this man of reason and science — seemed a bit emotional. Jehan squeezed his hand.

“Let’s go get some lunch,” Jehan said. “It’s almost 1:30 and I’m starving.”

They were still holding hands as they walked out of the gallery and out into the clear midsummer day.

**

Joly had chosen the restaurant – a little Italian bistro on Newbury with small tables outside. They’d lucked into a table for two where they could soak up the sun and watch the shoppers meander up and down the street. Jehan ordered a bottle of Prosecco for them to share.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against Joly’s. They ordered food – a panini for Jehan, a pasta dish for Joly that he’d ordered after checking several times that it was sufficiently vegetarian – and sat watching the parade of humanity in front of them. 

They sat in silence for a while until Jehan finally couldn’t stand it any longer — he had a question he had to ask.

“So, um—what happened with you and Bossuet and Musichetta?” he asked tentatively.

Joly thought for a moment, then spoke carefully. “It just—wasn’t working anymore, you know? I love them both, but—it seemed like the two of them were closer to each other than they were to me. I always felt like a third wheel, you know?”

Jehan couldn’t read Joly’s face behind his sunglasses. “But you still live together,” Jehan pointed out.

“I don’t have any other options until our lease is up, you know? Bahorel offered to let me come stay with him, but he’s all the way out in Somerville, and with classes starting up soon—“ Joly looked resigned. “I sleep on the futon in the spare bedroom. Of course, God knows where Bossuet found that thing – I can’t imagine what lurks in the mattress.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Well, if you ever need a place to crash – I mean, Grantaire is over at Enjolras’s a lot – you could come sleep with me anytime – I mean, stay with me – I mean, stay with us—” Jehan flushed as he stumbled over his words.

Joly laughed. “I appreciate that.”

The two men lapsed into silence as the server delivered their lunches. Jehan busied himself with the food on his plate, watching Joly twirl his spaghetti with his fork. He had incredibly elegant hands, Jehan noticed.

“So what about you and Courf?” Joly asked casually as he took a bite of his food.

“Courf? Yeah—uh—Courf.” Jehan wiped his mouth with his napkin. “That’s over. Definitely over.”

Joly looked skeptical. “It’s been over a million times before, Jehan. Remember that time you found him with Bahorel at his apartment? Or the time in the alley with Ferre? Or the time we all went out to Provincetown and he was making an ass of himself at Drag Queen Bingo—”

“What are you saying, Joly?” Jehan was miffed.

“I’m saying you’ve taken him back before – why not this time?” Joly asked.

“It’s different this time,” jehan said. He suddenly became very interested in his andwich.

“Why? Joly asked. “I’m sorry—it’s just—“

“It’s different because—well, maybe this time there’s someone else, okay?” Jehan was blushing again. He couldn’t look Joly in the eye.

Joly reached over and touched his hand.

“I see,” he said, calmer now. “And what if I told you that’s the same reason I sleep on that shitty futon every night?”

Jehan looked directly at him and smiled.

**

After lunch – which was topped off by a rich chocolate torte that the two men shared – they strolled through the Back Bay. They stopped at a stationery store so Jehan could buy some of the writing notebooks he liked, and Joly picked up a couple of overpriced cat toys at a boutique dedicated to all things feline.

Eventually they wound their way to the Public Garden – one of Jehan’s favorite places in Boston. Unlike most of the other park visitors, who seemed content to wander aimlessly, Jehan took in each flower bed, admiring particular varieties or arrangements. Joly smiled at him indulgently, even allowing him to stick a blossom behind his ear.

After circumnavigating the garden, they sat on a bench overlooking the pond, watching as tourists clamored to get on the swan boats.

“Did I ever tell you I drove one of those when I was in high school?” Joly asked.

“Really?” Jehan couldn’t picture it.

“It was horrible. Screaming kids, rude people—and God knows what’s in this pond,” Joly cringed at the thought. “I was sure I was going to get the plague or hepatitis or something.”

Jehan tried to picture a younger Joly – still all arms and legs and messy hair. He enjoyed the thought.

“The plague, Joly? I think they eradicated it centuries ago—“ Jehan was trying to be reassuring.

“You never know, you know? I think I saw an article—“

Jehan couldn’t stand it any longer. The whole day – the touching, the looking, the talking – was finally too much for him and he leaned over and kissed Joly on the mouth.

“About the rats—“ Joly said as Jehan pulled away from ths kiss.

“Joly—“Jehan said. “I kiss you and you speak of rodents?”

Joly laughed. “I’m sorry—maybe you should—should try again?”

Jehan leaned over and kissed him again. This time Joly responded, opening his mouth and letting his tongue explore Jehan’s. The kiss grew in intensity and Joly put an arm around Jehan, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, they stared at each other for a minute.

“Do you want to—“ Joly said, all the words coming out in a rush.

“My place?“ Jehan said.

“Grantaire?” Joly said. He was still breathing heavily.

“Out with Enjolras. I told me he wouldn’t be home,”Jehan said.

Joly took a deep breath and stood up, holding out his hands to Jehan. “Let’s go, Prouvaire. I want to see the soul of my favorite poet. And the body too,” he added with a slight smirk.

Jehan grinned as he stood up and took Joly’s hand. “Perhaps you can help me realign my bed.”


End file.
